


Meet Cute

by Logos_Faber



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Logos_Faber/pseuds/Logos_Faber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John meet at a restaurant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Cute

Meet Cute:

Harriet Jane Watson, proposed to her girlfriend on Valentine ’s Day, and Clara Lainey Adelaide Williams said yes. Despite being lesbians who had lived in sin, Clara’s southern American family EXPECTED the wedding to traditional.

“I had this printed as soon as we got off the phone,” Mrs. Williams told her daughter. She drew a sheet of cream colored cardstock heavy enough to serve as a paper plate, embossed with gold curly filigree from her purse and handed to Clara. “The date is tentative of course, but what do you think?”

Senator and Mrs. Beauregard Hollandale Williams VI  
Request the Honor of Your Presence  
At The Marriage of Their Beloved Daughter

Dr. Clara Lainey Adelaide Williams  
To  
Harriet Jane Watson

Friday, the Seventh of June  
Two Thousand and ---  
At Half Past Five O’clock in the Evening

Cathedral-Basilica of St Louis King of France  
New Orleans, Louisiana  
Dinner and dancing immediately following the ceremony.

“I know all yall’s friends, co-workers, and the Watson family have to come from England and wherever, I’ll reserve 50 rooms at the Waldorf. We’ll have to host my sister Morgan, and your father’s brother Gilliam at the house but maybe we can send Olivia, Harper, Jasper and Floyd to a nice suite -”

“I don’t want a big fuss,” Clara protested. “I don’t want to fight a crowd to get to the bathroom in a poufy dress. I just want you, Daddy, the immediate family, a few friends, some nibbles, good cake-”

“A barrel of Maker’s Mark, ten magnums of champagne, a few cases of that Polish buffalo grass vodka John brought back from that –“ Harriet added.

“-a little music, little dancing and that’s all,” Clara finished, cutting Harriet off. “Nothing like last time.”  
“You’ve been married before?” John asked curiously.

“Nearly,” Clara replied.

“I was her maid of honor.” Seeing her brother’s look of surprise Harriet added. “You were deployed to Afghanistan.”

“Poor Precious,” Senator Williams replied. He leaned over and kissed his daughter’s temple consolingly, then signaled a passing waiter holding up his empty old fashioned glass for a scotch refill. “If you wanted a little trifling affair you should have eloped and told us after like your brother did-“

“Little Dale went to Vegas for a bachelor party. Hit 40 million on a slot machine and married a stripper named Lucky Diamond, because the slot machine was called the Lucky Diamond,” Harriet told John grinning. “He wants to name his son Lucky Bastard.”

“Lucky Diamond was just a stage name,” Senator Williams corrected. “Her name is Emmeline Desdemona Frost, she is a principle dancer for the New York City Ballet; pole dancing paid more. So that’s what she does during the off season.”

“You’re okay with your son marrying a Vegas stripper?” John asked curiously.

“It’s the same everywhere John,” Senator Williams explained. “Lately people get into politics just to get out and become lobbyist and consultants. Same job, few constituents, better perks and the money is outrageous: I have a friend charging 2,000 an hour plus expenses and no one bats an eye.”

“Little Dale is not going to call his son Lucky anything, we aren’t gangsters,” Clara said reproachfully. “They’re going to name the baby Emile Desmond, after Emma’s father. He was a famous poet.”

“That birth certificate will read Beauregard Hollandale Williams VII or so help me God –“

“Little-Dale can name his baby whatever he sees fit,” Clara interrupted. “It’s his baby Momma.“

“The first born men of the Williams family have been named Beauregard Hollandale Williams since time out of mind. Little Dale doesn’t have the right to break tradition. Bad enough he –“

“Little-Dale could be the star of his own sit-com,” Harriet muttered to John, “He’s my second favorite Williams hands-down.”

“Will he be at the wedding?” John asked. “Sounds like a bloke I could drink with.”

“Oh God yes,” Harriet replied. “I promised him a case of Macallan if he and his brothers wear kilts.”

“- don’t care if that man was a licensed justice of the peace. It’s sacrilegious! Married in a casino by drunk Elvis! Prancing around IN PUBLIC with nothing between him and the Lord but his smile!”

Harriet pulled out her phone, found the picture and handed the device to her brother John. Drunk Elvis in a white jump-suite stood between a topless women with big blonde hair, in a white thong, and white boots. Little Dale wore a three foot wide white cowboy hat, fringed white chaps and a smile.

“You were there?” John asked curiously.

“I was his best man,” Harriet explained. “I told him to put on the hat and chaps so he’d match the bride and Elvis.”

“- acts like he was raised by raccoons in the woods! Ain’t got the good sense God gave a goose but-”

“Dabney please. You can bless Little-Dale to hell and back when you see him. We did not fly half way around the world to bore Clara-Dale and the Watsons to death with Little-Dale’s latest shenanigans.”

Mrs. Williams took a calming breath, then another. “You’re right. Clara-Dale, Archbishop Rommel will be delighted to officiate your nuptials-“

“A catholic archbishop agreed to marry two lesbians?” John asked incredulously. “In a catholic church?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Williams replied proudly. “I was a Luthor before I married my loving husband. My family has a long history of making our will be done.”

“Every Williams who got married at St. Louis Cathedral had a long happy union. I know it sound’s superstitious and corny but it worked for my grandparents, my parents, you Momma and me and I want the same for you and your siblings Clara-Dale.”

“I’d like to get married at the cathedral Daddy, but it’s just too big –“

“Fiddle sticks,”Mrs. Williams dismissed with a wave of her hand. “St. Louis barely holds 1,000 people, heaven only knows what well do with the rest of them. A tent is too tacky. We’ll just have to double down on the reception but I can’t think of a venue that’s big enough and nice enough to-”

“NO, just no Momma. This is MY day and I’m not having the hoopla! There is no way on God’s green earth I’m having a circus-“

“I have planned your wedding in my heart since the morning you were laid in my arms wrapped in a pink blanket at the King’s Daughters Hospital in Greenville, Mississippi twenty seven years ago,” Mrs. Dabney Williams replied. ”I labored 19 hours to bring you into this world Clara-Dale-“

“Mrs. Williams we don’t want –“ Harriet began.

“I told you call me Miss Dabney childe, you and John are family now,” Mrs. Senator Williams chided Harriet patting the back of her hand. “Never mind what you want. It is my duty as a mother to provide my only daughter a wedding befitting tradition and the family name.”

“Did Harriet ever mention we are British nobility?” John asked helpfully adding fuel to the fire. “Our coat of arms goes back to the 1600s. We have our own plaid.”

“Shut –UP John!” Harriet hissed.

“I thought your family was from our side of the Atlantic, John,” Senator Williams replied. “I didn’t know they went in for titles up north.”

“John, please don’t –“ Clara pleaded. “It’s not important –“

“Clara-Dale hush-it,” Mrs. Senator Williams snapped before turning her southern charm on her future daughter-in laws’ brother. “Why, no John, my loving daughter never mentioned there was a title in your family. Pray tell, if you don’t mind my asking, what is it?”

“Mother was Canadian. Father took her name after marriage, but was born the second son of the St. John Hamish Murray Duke of Atholl, head of Clan Murray. My uncle died without children so I am Lord Watson, Marquis of Atholl and Tullibardine. Harriet is Countess of Derby.”

“After they marry, what will my Clara-Dale be?” Mrs. Senator Williams asked in a trembling voice.

“Lady Clara, and share Harriet’s title as Countess. If they have a son, he will be Viscounts of Balquhidder, and Earl of Derby after Harriet.” John sipped his scotch and smiled at Mrs. Senator Williams. “Did you know we have a Castle up in the Highlands?”

“Must be quite a sight,” the senator said with raised brows. “Is it an old ruin or do they allow tours?”

“Hasn’t been a private house in years. It’s maintained by a full time staff, and open to the public most of the time. People get married in the chapel all the time. There’s an excellent golf course. The dowager’s lodge is a spa hotel. You and Miss Dabney should see it before you fly home.”

“If it’s not short notice,” Senator Williams responded happily. “Drinking scotch with a Scotsmen, playing golf on the highlands – sounds like a good time I’m ready to have!”

“My little girl, a countess…” Mrs. Williams whispered. “Lady Clara-Dale, Countess of Derby –“

“They’ll call her Dr. Lady Clara or something,” the senator interjected looking to John for conformation. “Precious worked damn hard to get her M.D. I don’t want anyone to assume she’s just pretty heiress.”

“I can’t wait to send an invitation to that hay-brained old bat! I’ll hand deliver it. I want to see the look on Alice Crittenden’s face when she finds out my Clara-Dale is going to be a Countess!”

“Aren’t you glad you slapped her now?”

“Momma you didn’t!”

“She did,” Senator Williams said proudly. “I have the pictures to prove it.”

“Momma why?”

“She had it coming,” Mrs. Senator Williams huffed, the turned to John and Harriet. “That bitter old lemon said medical school was the fast lane to lonely, and Clara-Dale should be satisfied to be the wife of a Judge. Like sitting at home with a baby; planning cocktail parties was the end all be all.”

“I ran off to England with the maid of honor leaving her son at the alter in front of five hundred people she had every right to be mad.”

“Bo got his ring back and we paid for everything. Alice had no call to carry on like a wet cat in a tow sack. Things she said! In CHURCH. Like God wasn’t watching-Don’t look at me like that! Your Daddy punched Bo. Laid him out like a dog on the porch. Broke his jaw; his mouth was wired shut for a month.”

“Daddy!”

“Good on you Mr. Dale-“

“Harriet!”

“What?”

“Bo called you a bitch. So I popped him in the mouth. Your brothers grabbed me before I could give him a good kick in the ass. That’s what he really needed. When Alice tried claw my eyes out that’s when your mother struck - snake fast – knocked that wig and hat clean off her head. I was so proud.”

Mrs. Senator Williams blushed like a school girl. “Beauregard Hollandale Williams I love you like whiskey loves water but you are not right, not right at all.”

“Daddy could it cost you the election? Because of me? Because of that?”

”With brilliant wife managing my campaigns, I couldn’t lose an election if I showed up dead,” Senator Williams laughed. “If I had the good sense to listen to everything she said I’d be president.”

“You’ll get there Dale, all in good time.”

Senator Williams turned to John and Harriet, “Dabney would make a perfect commander and chief, but she can’t be bothered to run for office. That’s why I’m the face of the family and she’s the power broker.”

“Why should I? Dale likes talking for hours to people who don’t think or listen, so I let him have it. Oh look, Dale there is the man I wanted you to meet. At the bar.”

Senator Williams glanced over his shoulder. “Which one? Skinny suite or the ginger suite?”

“Ginger, skinny is his brother. Bless his soul, he’d have to stand up twice to cast a shadow.”

“They don’t look related,” John remarked after glancing at them.

“Bet the mother got bored.”

“Harriet don’t be scandalous!” Clara admonished. “He might hear you!”

“What’s his name Miss Dabney?” John asked.

“Siger Humphrey Mycroft Holmes III, Ph.D. in economics, Master’s in mathematics - Paulimona Sforza – you remember Dale, from IMF? Italian with the rooster hair? She said Holmes is the linchpin of the Home and Foreign Office. Sully said he’s the ticket if you need a fixer in Europe.”

“Do you think he is worth knowing?”

“You know how I feel. You can never have too many friends, or too much knowledge.”

“I though the saying was you can never be too skinny or too rich?”

“You’re young darling, you’ll learn.”

“Should I invite him over?”

“He will find his way over here, Sully said he’s that sort. When he does, I’m going to invite him to your engagement party Clara. There will have to be three, one here for your friends, one in Washington for the cronies, and one at home for show. That way we might be able to keep the guest list to 300.”

“Oh. My. God!”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain!” Mrs. Senator Williams popped the back of her daughter’s hand with a spoon. “Your brother may be going to hell in a hand basket on roller skates, but I know I raised you better than that Clara-Dale!”

“OUCH!”

“I bet you haven’t been attending church like you should, that’s what comes of skipping Sunday. Moral decline!”

“Momma I have to work!”

“In 24 hours on a Sunday you cannot find two hours to praise the Lord?”

“Excuse me for interrupting a family dinner. My name is Mycroft Holmes,” Mycroft extended his hand to Senator Williams who stood up to shake it. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance. Simeon mentioned you would be in London, he suggested I introduce myself–“

“Simeon who?” Harriet asked.

“Simeon Sully, American Ambassador to the United Kingdom,” Mrs. Senator Williams prompted. “You remember him the man with the pink bowtie? We had tea with him Monday.”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes, Simeon said we might run into you if we ate here. I did not think we’d get so lucky, from what he said you have quite a busy schedule. He promised to introduce us at the G7 summit in Paris – now I don’t have to wait. Good to meet you sir.”

Mycroft smile pleased, and wanting to please. “There is always time to make new friends.”

“Indeed, Mr. Holmes this is my wife Dabney –“

Mycroft shook Mrs. Williams hand. “Pleasure to meet you Mrs. Williams.”

“My daughter Clara and her fiancée the Countess of Derby-“

“Pleasure to meet you, my Lady–“ Mycroft nodded to them on the other side of the table.

“And her brother the Marquise of Atholl –“

“Please just call me John.”

Mycroft nodded to him as well. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“Would you like to join us? We’re celebrating my daughter’s engagement! If that waiter ever comes back we’re going to drink a toast.”

“No, thank you Senator Williams. I am here for a family meal myself.” Mycroft half turned and nodded toward his brother at the bar. “That ennui drenched individual draped across bar and barstool like a boneless boa constrictor is my little brother.”

“Ya’ll should join us, the more the merrier!” Mrs. Williams cried.

“I couldn’t possibly intrude Senator –“

“Please call me Dale. No need to stand on ceremony with us,” Senator Williams added. “We’re on vacation.”

“Any friend of a friend is a friend worth drinking with,” Harriet declared. “Tell your brother to come over and raise glass with us.”

“Another time perhaps. My brother has suffered a personal disappointment, our company would not add to your atmosphere of celebration.”

“Whoever broke his heart is a fool,” John declared looking at Sherlock. “Your brother is better off without them.”

“He looks young enough to make a full recovery without lasting damage,” Mrs. Williams observed John looking at Sherlock appreciatively. “Good company, conversation and champagne might lift his spirt, tell him come over.”

“Thank you Mrs. Williams, but Sherlock is not currently receptive to hospitality.”

Senator Williams reached in his jacket and pulled out a business card. “We are throwing Clara and Lady Harriet an engagement party in about a month, contact my office so they know where to send your invitation.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft replied automatically but clearly surprised. He was accustomed to people wanting his expertise, but not his company. “That is very gracious.”

“Aside from Simeon and now you we barely know a soul in Europe,” Mrs. Williams interjected. “Please come. If you don’t come we will be lost in a sea of young people, without hope.”

“I haven’t had a conversation without talking points in years,” Senator Williams added, “just thinking about free range mingling at Clara-Dale’s engagement party is enough to make me break out in a sweat.”

“We can get you to explain your white paper on Digital Currency Manipulation and Regulation?” Mrs. Williams added. “The possibilities of a truly anonymous electronic currency are intriguing.”

“Don’t think because you’ll have a fellow policy-wonk close to hand you’ll talk shop all night,” Clara warned. “I want you to meet our friends. If we get married in Louisiana a lot of them won’t be able to come to the wedding.”

“Thus the necessity of multiple engagement parties,” Mr. Williams replied.

“Mr. Holmes be sure to bring your brother, the best way to get over a broken heart is to fall in love straight away. It worked for Clara, it might work for Sherlock. Harriet started out Clara-Dale’s bridesmaid. One transatlantic flight and a few months living in sin later they are getting married.”

“Momma! Do you have to tell the man you just met all my business?”

“Absolutely Clara-Dale. That’s what you get for putting me through 19 hours of labor then threatening not to let me give you a proper wedding after that Baptist Disaster in a country club chapel. Keep going and see where you end up. You don’t want to know what Little-Dale has coming to him.”

“I’m not sure with even a month’s notice I will be able to drag my brother away from is work. He’s a bit obsessed …point of fact our lunch date was actually two days ago, Sherlock just forgot.”

“No wonder he’s single,” Harriet muttered Clara smacked the back of her hand with a spoon.

“I understand British people are all stiff upper lip and good manners, but you’re being ridiculous. Excuse me.”

Mrs. Williams got up and strode across the room toward Sherlock. The table watched as Mrs. Williams introduced herself to Holmes the younger and invited him over. To Mycroft’s surprise Mrs. Williams was successful, and returned with her arm looped through Sherlock’s.

“Everyone this is Sherlock Holmes.” Mrs. Williams points to each person,” Sherlock this is my husband Dale, my daughter Clara-Dale – we call her Clara-Dale because she looks so much like her Daddy -, her fiancée Harriet, and her brother John.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all, and congratulations Clara and Harriet. Have you picked a date?”

“How did you know?” Clara asked surprised.

“Your parents are American politicians. They have secret service protection so federal not state. They traveled here while Congress is in session, clearly to see you, not a tragedy no one looks sad. You and John are busy doctors, but you’re taking a long lunch in the middle of the day. Plus you’re playing with your engagement ring because you are not used to wearing it yet. Obviously you’re here to celebrate you recent engagement,” Sherlock replied.

“That’s extraordinary,” John declared. “How did you know all of that?”

“I observed it. The Williams know Mycroft through work, he has no social life to speak of and his business is politics. Their accent is southern American. The Williams’ diction, posture and smile are well rehearsed but look natural. They is used to being photographed and recorded. Elected officials not high level cabinet ministers. Clara is still wearing her name badge. You are wearing a borrowed jacket over a jumper and scrubs. The jumper is hideous, but you are either too respected or liked in your field for anyone at your hospital to question your fashion sense.”

“You are remarkable young man,” Mr. Williams regarded Sherlock thoughtfully. “It’s all there to be seen, but I would never have put it together that fast.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“Really?” Harriet asked. “What’s the normal response?”

“Piss off freak.”

“England is not the place for you,” Harriet consoled. “Move to New York, they’ll give you a radio show and a cult following.”

Clara and Harriet laughed, John stifled an unmanly giggle. Mr. and Mrs. Williams looked at each other knowingly while Mycroft and Sherlock observed the table.

“Well now we’re all acquainted there is no reason for you not to join us for lunch,” Mrs. Williams declared. She released Sherlock’s arm grabbed a couple of chairs from a nearby table and dragged them over.

“Now Mycroft sit next to Dale. Sherlock sit between Mycroft and John. Harriet and Clara scooch round, the table is big enough for all of us. Stand up and slide the chair – stop being silly you’ll fall over.”

Everyone stood up and shuffled their seats around to make room at the large round table. A small flock of waiters appeared with extra place settings, flutes, two magnums of champagne and each person was served a large plate of oysters and sliced French bread with a dainty fork to eat them with.

“I hope ya’ll don’t mind but I ordered for everyone to save time.”

“That looks good. What did you order Dabney?”

“Deep fried oyster topped with bacon, and green pepper relish, chargrilled oysters topped with garlic butter and parmesan cheese, and raw oysters. Nothing goes better with champagne than oysters.”

Mycroft and Sherlock flicked each other a glance out the corner of their eyes. Everyone in the Holmes family from Grandmere to Sherlock’s dog Redbeard loved oysters in all their many varieties.  
Oysters were not on the menu of the Diogenes Club although Mycroft regularly ordered them.

The conversation died away as everyone dug into the appetizers. Harriet and Clara fed each other raw oyster, tipping the slippery salty creatures into each other’s mouths and kissing away any escaping residue. Mr. and Mrs. Williams gave their raw oysters to their daughter with indulgent smiles.

Harriet traded John chargrilled oysters for raw. John slipped his oysters on to Sherlock’s plate then watched him eat with quiet orgasmic moans of appreciation. Mycroft watched John watch Sherlock, and occasionally stole an oyster off Sherlock’s plate.

As the last oyster and their sauces were savored the servers returned. The staff removed the plates and replaced them with small plates of a pears, endive, peppery arugula, parsley salad topped with a bright hazelnut-lemon dressing, another favorite of Mycroft, not on the menu.

Sherlock pushed the pear slices out of the nest of greens then scrapped the rest onto Mycroft’s plate and the pears onto John’s plate.

“How did you know I like pears?”

“You eat them like stolen treasures.”

The small salads did not last long, next came the entrée. A quarter of roasted duck flavored with smoky paprika, garlic, rosemary and thyme generously basted to give it a glossy golden glaze and served with a generous swirl of pan sauce on a mound of fluffy sweet potato soufflé.

When the sommelier poured a robust Cote-Rotie from France’s Rhone region. Mycroft raised his glass to Mrs. Williams in silent salute. The lady had done her homework. Mycroft could not of eaten better at his Grandmere’s table. He was flattered.

Desert was a beautiful individual brown butter cake, with caramel butter cream frosting and topped with a crumbled pecan praline candy. The cake, approximately size of a toilet paper roll and was surrounded by truffles filled with rich brandy caramel sauce.

Sherlock and John fork fenced briefly.

“You owe me for the pears,” Sherlock insisted.

“You gave them to me! I didn’t ask for them!”

“You didn’t give them back either.”

Mycroft was amazed. He had never seen his little brother engage with anyone socially without tears or violence erupting in short order. Yet here was Sherlock, engaging in good natured horseplay with another human, sitting at a table of people who took his behavior in stride.

The skirmish ended when John finally moved his plate out of reach. He had lost half his truffles, and a piece of cake. Harriet, Clara and Dale were laughing at them. Mrs. Williams smiled with satisfaction at their antics. Mycroft watched her watch his brother and John Watson.

“Sherlock you’ve got to come to my engagement party.” Harriet wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. “I haven’t seen John be that goofy in years. God I miss goofy John. He giggles like a little girl.”

“I do NOT.”

“I, thank you,” Sherlock replied surprised. People did not voluntarily invite him to their important social occasions. “My work schedule is unpredictable –“

“What do you do?” Clara asked.

“I’m a consulting detective,” Sherlock said proudly. “When the police are out of their depth-which is always – they consult me.”

“So you work for SO15? Or the Protection Branch?”

“I don’t work for the government in any capacity. I’m completely independent.”

“You’re a forensic mercenary – justice for money!”

“No Harriet, Sherlock works for free,” Mycroft corrected.

“Are you CRAZY? What’s wrong with you? No, don’t answer you’re just like my parents. You do it because you love what you do. The money’s not important,” she huffed.

“Our parents are founding members of Medecins Sans Frontieres –“

“Doctors without borders?”

“Yeah. Mom was a surgeon, Dad was an anesthesiologist. They dragged us all over the world treating displaced people, living on the edge of warzones, sometimes in primitive conditions. Technically I started practicing medicine when I was six: I helped deliver twins.”

“Our lives were like an endless issue of National Geographic. Everything me and John owned fit in a single rucksack. We went to school by correspondence. We lived like vagabonds. Then our parents got kidnapped in Gaza by the PLO and we got shipped to our Grandfather Murray.”

“Until then Grandfather was just a voice on the sat-phone and birthday gifts. Living with him was a revelation: safety, plumbing, electricity at the flick of a switch all day, every day. It was like living on vacation. I guess I can understand why our parents devoted their lives to the less fortunate but-”

“Fuck that John. We lived in squalor and dealt with shit our whole childhood because Mom and Dad got bored with being comfortable and ran off to live the adventure. They should never have dragged us along for the ride. It was recklessly irresponsible.”

“They were happy, doing what they loved, helping people –“

“Not one of whom ever did jack for us. Let me ask you something Sherlock, are you good at what you do? Solving crimes for the police?”

“I’m the best.”

“But they treat you like shit don’t they? You don’t ask anything in return. You work yourself to exhaustion and they take it for granted – like you owe them something. Do you know why that is?”

“Harriet, not everybody is like –“

“Yes they fucking are Clara. Yes they fucking are. You can’t be nice Sherlock. They’ll screw you every time. Start charging the bastards by the hour and watch how fast they change their tune. You don’t believe me? John consults with the FBI, Scotland Yard, Interpol, lawyers -”

“Really?” Mycroft questioned mildly. His eyes cut to Mrs. Williams she smiled.

“I did a pathology residency before surgery. While I was deployed I did both as the need arose. I’ve worked part-time in the coroner’s office in a couple of cities just to keep my hand in. Occasionally people who remember me ring up and ask for my opinion.”

“They used to dick John around - calling him at strange hours, showing up at his hospital interrupting his life - until I set him up an LLC and made him use contracts. You’ve got a FBI file on your desk right now, let Sherlock have a look. You solve it Sherlock, charge them for it and watch how they treat you then.”

“Harry I can’t just show anybody evidence of an active criminal investigation. There are legal restrictions.”

“John and Skinner go way back,” Harriet explained. “He saved Walter’s life, and his husband Fox’s reputation when Skinner was in charge of the New York bureau.”

Mrs. Williams added fondly, “Our John has quite a reputation in the alphabet soup.”

“There’s nothing AD Skinner won’t do for John, and he’s not the only one. Deputy Director Coulson at the Agency congratulated me before our trip over. Asked me to remind you of his offer-”

Senator Williams reached inside his jacket and pulled out a business card, he handed it to Mycroft, who passed it to Sherlock who handed it to John. He glanced at it front and back, raised his eyebrows and tucked it in a pants pocket.

“Phil’s just being polite,” John demurred. “We met years ago, and try to keep in touch. That’s all.”

“Don’t listen to him Sherlock. John’s phone rings off the hook. He’s the Mick Jagger of emergency medicine. He gets mobbed by groupies every time we go out. It’s awesome, we never pay for drinks. Ever.”

“I was in the RAMC. Now I work with a lot of international NGOs so I’ve met a lot of people over the years, but Harry’s blowing it all out of proportion.”

“Bullshit and I’ll prove it. Mr. Dale, Ms. Dabney if you’ll excuse the younger generation I’m going to demonstrate my brother’s magical power of not paying for alcoholic beverages to Sherlock.”

“I’m not dressed to go out,” John protested.

“When has that ever mattered?” Harriet took Clara’s hand and gently pulled her to her feet. “Bring ID but leave your purse with your Mum, you won’t need it.”

“I don’t like not having any money on me” Clara fretted handing her mother her purse.

“Here,” Harriet pulled out a wad of bills and her ID out of her wallet and handed them to Clara,” stuff that in your bra.”

“Not in the middle of a restaurant, let me go to the bathroom I’ll be right back.”

Harriet kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll get your jacket, meet us out front.” Clara headed off toward the restrooms. Harriet turned to John and Sherlock with her hands on her hips. “Alright, up you get. It’s Adventure Time!”

“My sister is a pushy broad.” John got to his feet and turned and looked at Sherlock hopefully. “But we always have a good time when we go out. If you’ve got nothing on for the evening-“

“Don’t worry John. My brother’s schedule is clear until Sunday. We were supposed to head to our parent’s home for a visit, but they will understand if he comes a little late.” Mycroft nudged his brother with his shoulder. “Run along Sherlock, it’s Adventure Time.”

Sherlock scowled at his brother. On the one hand doing anything Mycroft suggested was contrary to his fundamental laws of existence. On the other hand all the observable data suggested Harriet, Clara and especially John enjoyed his company, and genuinely wanted him along for the outing.

The novelty was strangely appealing.

“Come on Sherlock, I promise it won’t be boring,” John coaxed.

“Keep your phones turned on,” Mrs. Williams demanded. “I expect to see you all sometime tomorrow understand?”

Without further ado, Harriet led the trio to reception where they collected their jackets and Clara then out the restaurant.

**Author's Note:**

> For now this is a plot seed that refuses to sprout, I liked it and want to share.


End file.
